


All This and Heaven, Too

by Cirrostratus (Lenticular), DoubtingRabbit



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel/Demon Sex, Bentley sex, Fanart, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, immediately post-series, unconventional sex organs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenticular/pseuds/Cirrostratus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubtingRabbit/pseuds/DoubtingRabbit
Summary: What's there left to do after six millennia of waiting, topped off by the apocalypse and a fantastic meal at the Ritz?





	1. In the Bentley

**Author's Note:**

> _Neffy and Flea back at it again at the Krispy Kreme_

Being disincorporated was always clarifying for one's mind, and Aziraphale could at least have been thankful for that in the past few days' events. It had allowed him to process the previous six thousand years or so that the body had experienced, and now that he was back here, after the Armageddon that never was, he'd returned with a singular focus: to correct the wrongs he'd wrought... but then, Crowley had offered lunch and they'd sprung for the Ritz, and wrong-righting could happen after a good meal, couldn't it?

So, now the recently-reincorporated angel sat in the front seat of an immaculate Bentley and toyed with the ring on his pinky as he summoned up the courage to confess his greatest sin to his closest friend. The sin of omission.

His face welling up with emotion and, despite his perspective's reset, he found himself blurting out the short and sweet of it, "Crowley, I love you!"

Crowley, who had been in the middle of a droll--he thought--observation as to the nature of post-non-Apocalyptic reality, found himself swerving wildly as his usually-calm oversight dissolved into a panicky mix of '_ oh, there's a bus' _ , _ 'Aziraphale will yell at me if I hit that pedestrian _ ' and ' _ hang on a blessed minute _'.

He wrenched at the wheel, got the Bentley back on proper course, and turned his head to stare at the angel in the passenger seat.

"You what?!"

"Well, in love with you, to be specific." He offered Crowley a flicker of a smile in the face of the demon's confusion, but he couldn't stop himself from babbling on, "I thought, what with all this time and all that happened within the past--oh, and a couple of glasses of that marvelous champagne and, you know, I'm terrible at lying and worse still at keeping a secret. And. It's just that, well--you should know."

Perhaps he hadn't resolved as much as he thought he had with the reincorporation.

"Wha- how- wha-" Crowley was saying. "Are you drunk? Is that- six thousand bleeding years, angel, and now you-" He wasn't sure where he was going with any of it, but it kind of poured out. He took a sharp turn and scared an old lady on the corner, which made him feel a little better, but no less confused. Finally he settled on, "It's about time!" on account of it sounding like he knew what he was saying, and maybe Aziraphale wouldn't notice how red he was turning.

"It is," Aziraphale agreed, a sheepish duck of his head being more what kept him from noticing Crowley turning beet-red. "I'll need to beg your forgiveness later, when you've had as much time to process it all as I have."

Crowley's should have pondered all the useful things 'begging for forgiveness' could be turned to, but this was Aziraphale, and so his first, immediate thought was to respond in kind, which he ruthlessly bit back. Who ever heard of a demon confessing love for anyone?

Instead he cleared his throat and delivered an awkward, "Don't- don't worry about it. Forgiveness, or processing. It's fine." 

"It is?" Somehow, Aziraphale had expected more fanfare than that and his head jerked up, looking at Crowley in confusion. But there, he could see, it was that stiff look on his face that the angel knew so very well; the one Crowley only ever wore when he was flustered (and possibly even pleased). The smile flickered again, stayed a second longer this time. "Ah. Yes. I see, fine, yes. Oh, good, and thank you."

And with that over and done with, and superbly happy with the current results, Aziraphale leaned across the car seat and planted a kiss on the demon's cheek--at the corner of his mouth.

Crowley wasn't sure what to do with that. Not sure at all.

His body, meanwhile, decided to swerve the Bentley around two parked cars, bump onto the sidewalk and end up halfway through a hedge, where it slammed a foot on the brakes in apparent self-defense. He was so preoccupied with the still-warm feeling Aziraphale's lips had left that he didn't even worry about scratches.

"You shouldn't distract the driver!" shouted Crowley, sudden traffic safety enthusiast.

And then he leaned over and kissed the angel back.

Without hesitation, and seemingly unbothered by the incident or the honking it incurred around them, Aziraphale threw both arms around Crowley's neck, and himself into the kiss. Eyes squeezed shut and clutching at the demon's jacket, he got a sense of deja vú for all the times before he'd dreamt of doing this exact thing. Crowley's fingers curled in Aziraphale's lapels in a completely unneeded attempt to pull him closer than physics allowed, making a soft, hissing noise against the angel's very warm lips.

It would all have been very embarrassing if some impatient pedestrian had not banged on the Bentley, and Crowley pulled away, clearing his throat and trying not to flick his tongue like some flustered idiot.

"Right," he said, untangling himself. "I'll, uh- I'll drive you home."

"Good idea. My flat is closer," Aziraphale agreed in an equally dazed fashion. That kiss had been a little more intense than he expected, even after six thousand years of waiting.

"Yeah," Crowley said intelligently, while his mind fitzed and flopped at the implications of that. He got the Bentley out of the hedge and saw to getting to Soho in the speediest manner possible (which, for him, was a deal speedier than for any of the surrounding humans. He did not even hit anyone). Outside, the car-smacking moron tripped into a manhole.

"I do, ah, have that nearly two-hundred-year-old bottle of Perrier-Jouët," Aziraphale offered after a full minute of not complaining about Crowley's driving at all.

_ Wine? He was going on about wine? Was this all leading up to them sitting in the backroom and getting drunk?! _ Crowley gritted his teeth and said, "Oh, yeah, yeah, Perrier-Jouët, that sounds, uh..." Vinegary and dull. "Great. It sounds great."

The Bentley jolted in a way that sounded suspiciously like he'd mounted the curb and was driving on the sidewalk. There was some screaming too, but who cared? Not Crowley.

"A little something to celebrate," Aziraphale said in a tone both distracted and content, and it was nothing short of a miracle that any pedestrian survived as he leaned across the divide again and placed a kiss on Crowley's throat while his fingers picked at his belt buckle. _ A little something to cleanse the palette, too, _ he thought with a giggle, lips dragging down over the demon's clavicle as he moved further, and further down his torso.

"What- what're you- what are-" Crowley stammered as his brain violently switched gears once again. He somehow managed to keep them on a straight--if illegal--path towards Soho, but it was a trial. Finally, dumbly, he settled on, "But I don't have anything down there yet!" and hoped it made some kind of sense.

"Best to get on that, then," Aziraphale murmured against his skin, flipping open his belt and working open the fastenings on his trousers as he kissed a trail down the demon's belly.

Crowley gritted his teeth and tried to focus on both the driving, the heat Aziraphale was beaming at him by his presence alone, and the harried growing of something resembling a sex organ. Was it his finest work? No. Not a tentacle to be found. But he did manage some cheerful, poison frog-like patterning, which would have to do.

Rolling up his shirt and prying back the snakeskin briefs, Aziraphale was surprised by the toxic-looking lightning-blue-lined spots along the ebony black shaft as his cock sprung forward. With a nervous giggle, he said, "Bravo! and under pressure, too."

He didn't allow the demon any time to respond, pursing his lips to press them down over the poisonously red tip of Crowley's cock, working his way down.

“Ah, you know,” Crowley managed to say, about to launch into a nervous anecdote about how he'd helped design the patterning on some of those amphibians (while covering Rasiel's shift; Crowley had been primarily assigned to astronomical design back in the day), but all that he managed of that was a, "Woo-ahh, yeah, ah, that--" But could he be blamed when Aziraphale was so very very warm?

He took his hand from the gearshift and rested it atop white curls, and the creepy-crawly-cold feeling of Crowley's fingers scraping across his scalp was not something that Aziraphale had expected to enjoy, but here he was finding the cool too-slick skin of the demon's cock all the more pleasant in comparison.

_ Good God, was he developing a kink? _The angel perished the thought by focusing on not choking as his lips closed around the base of Crowley's current sex.

Crowley swallowed, tongue flitting out, though he wasn't sure whether to wet dry lips or try to taste the air like he didn't have a fully functioning nose in this form. 

Either way, Aziraphale smelt--quite literally--divine, but it didn't bother Crowley in the slightest. His hips jolted, a needy little jerk, and he somehow managed not to run off the road at the heat, and the thought that the angel was swallowing him whole--he yanked the wheel violently, and managed to get back on the road. Trying not to choke, Aziraphale found himself getting a run for his money between the curb-running and the rocking of Crowley's hips in his seat. Pinning him back to the vintage leather seats with a palm and rolling the thin and clingy shirt he wore of late up his stomach, the angel drew up air and a '_ really, Crowley _' look.

"What?" Crowley demanded breathlessly at that accusatory look. As far as he was concerned, the angel had no one but himself to blame for Distracting the Driver, and now those sun-warm, breezy kisses made it more difficult.

Aziraphale ducked back down again and didn't take the choking-in-a-moving-vehicle risk again, instead placing featherlight kisses over the length of Crowley's newly-minted sex and taking more than a little joy in the heat he was imparting to the demon's body. In return, Crowley choked a needy sob back into something like a grunt.

At least they were nearly there, because Crowley was going to drag Aziraphale into the bookshop by his damn bowtie, assuming the angel could get his mouth off Crowley's cock for long enough for him to concentrate.

"Gently, love. Gently," Aziraphale tutted, near inaudible over the roaring of an engine pressed to its peak and the screams and honks of their fellow denizens of the road, and went back to his work of flicking the tip of his tongue up and down the blue-ringed-black pattern, and sucking at the strawberry crown.

Crowley heard him and pretended he hadn't; he didn't know what to do with 'gently' and 'love' and that warmth in Aziraphale's voice that rivaled that of his mouth. So instead he tightened his fingers in the angel's hair and slid the Bentley to a smooth, violent stop in front of the bookshop, the no-parking lines obediently rolling back and rearranging themselves.

By then Aziraphale was far too busy with his current work to even notice the Bentley coming to a complete halt and he continued laving his tongue over the length and breadth of Crowley's cock. Not to be too self-centered, but Aziraphale had received enough compliments on his, ahem, oral skills to rest assured that Crowley was enjoying himself, even if he couldn't have felt the intensity of the pleasure radiating off the demon.

"Aziraphale," Crowley croaked, his voice breaking, and he let his head thump onto the wheel. An absent thought kept random glances from skirting through the Bentley's windows to see the scene. Not propriety, not really; he simply didn't want to share.

Aziraphale was no less selfish, wanting Crowley to cum perhaps more than even Crowley did. He could hear it in his tone, feel it in the way his cock throbbed against his tongue, and the combination of Crowley's sudden crumpling over him and the smokey tint to the windows dimming his sight. Both hands were needed, then, he decided. Sliding his hands back down the demon's stomach, he gripped one around the shaft, and sucked the head of his cock like the sweetest lollipop.

Crowley's hand fisted into Aziraphale's hair, now trembling, and the demon gasped, "Oh, fuck," under his breath without meaning to. (It wasn't that he didn't swear around Aziraphale; he did, and often. He just tended to do it deliberately.)

"Aziraphale, wait, fuck--" He squirmed in his seat, not sure whether he was trying to pull the angel away or closer.

"Wait? Wait for what? You can't go into my shop sporting this, my reputation wouldn't stand it." Aziraphale laughed, his breath hot and warm over Crowley's sex as it throbbed wildly in his hand. Another squeeze, an eager lick. "Come on, then, Crowley. No more waiting. We've had enough waiting."

Crowley took him at his word (and besides, he had a point in the larger scale of things, but honestly, whose fault was that), using his grip on Aziraphale's hair to keep him in one place, as he rolled--jerked, really--his hips upwards, his sex into the angel's mouth, breath stuttering in his climax. The angel would have gagged, but he had expected that. Couldn't ask for any more from a demon, really. Best not to think on it too long, which was easy to do when your mouth is filled with spend as hot as hellfire and sour as lemons; quite the attention-grabber. Aziraphale hiccupped in slight protest but politely swallowed it down.

Letting go his grip on Aziraphale's curls, Crowley petted them instead, slumping back in his seat. And no stains, very thoughtful of the angel, he had to give him that.

"So," he said, more breathily than he'd meant to, "do you have a bed?"

"Yes," Aziraphale responded in annoyance, only to drift off into thought. "Somewhere."

Crowley looked at the angel with pity. He himself loved sleeping, even if he didn't need it, and had a large, expensive bed for the exact purpose. Of all the pleasures to deny oneself!

"... or I could just ride you on the table in the back," he suggested and when Aziraphale looked up at him in silence, his blushing face and sudden rush to get his seatbelt undone said it all.

And, "Great!" said Crowley, because he felt he needed to say something and scrambled to get his own seatbelt off. Stupid thing. He only wore it because Aziraphale refused to get into the car with him otherwise.


	2. In the Bookshop

Once back in his shop Aziraphale he had to stop himself from taking the time to inventory his entire collection, to be sure. But, as tempting as it was, he had his priorities--like finding that bed he remembered getting back at the turn of the century, when Crowley had spent three hours talking about a dream he had and made him crave it.

Certainly, it had to be in the bedroom, didn't it? That would be the most logical place. But it had also seemed like a good idea to use it for storage when he wasn't using it, then he never used it for a few years, and now it had been nine years since he'd even thought about the thing. Thankfully, he'd bumbled to his desk and only then remembered Crowley's suggestion, and the heat that rushed over him  _ had  _ to be unholy, Aziraphale could feel it.

Crowley himself rarely bumbled, and especially not now; he had slithered along in Aziraphale's meandering path and, when they got to a horizontal surface close enough to fit Crowley's earlier suggestion, he pressed up close behind the angel, arms winding around him.

"You've better have grown a dick yourssself," he hissed, cold fingers coiling around Aziraphale's hips, "becaussse I'm going to be all over it."

"Oh, yes, of course," Aziraphale replied, all the more flustered by those hands on his body and the cold air on the back of his neck sending shivers up and down his very new spine. He seemed to not have much more luck than Crowley had, as when the demon got his corduroy trousers and his robin's-egg gingham pants down, between his thighs stood an eagerly glowing pillar of slow-moving fire of a not-unreasonable length and width.

Giving Crowley an apologetic look, he pleaded, "This body is very new, so please be kind."

"Oh, yeah, yeah; kind."

Crowley agreed, distracted, and promptly hoisted Aziraphale onto the table. He didn't throw him, and that had to count as being kind. With a heavy "Woof!" as he landed like a stone on his desktop and shoving his Macintosh 128K over, Aziraphale had no time to glare at Crowley much less care about anything that came next. Head lolling back on his neck and fingers gripping the edge of the desk, he whimpered at the slick sensation wrapping around him and sending his mind spinning off into incoherent desire.

Crowley wrapped his lips around the glowing shaft, suckling at it and half-tempted to unhinge his jaw, while getting rid of his snug trousers. Easily done, given that he'd conjured them up in the first place. The angel's newly-formed sex was much like the angel himself, Crowley decided as he bent down to draw a rough, two-pronged lick over it; ethereal, divine-smelling (vanilla?  _ really? _ ) and somewhat thick around the middle. He hissed eagerly and, should Aziraphale care to check, he might have noticed that the demon's saliva was thick and viscous and, well, lube-like. It would have to do; he wanted the angel in him. Straightening up, pulling his mouth off Aziraphale with a  _ pop! _ and clambered onto the table to straddle the angel.

"I'm going to pound you through this blessed table," he hissed, halfway to himself, reached down, hand wrapping around Aziraphale to steady him, and shifted back--

"I, wait--Crowley, no, you couldn't possibly be ready enough, Crowley, darling, you'll hurt yourself," And, well, he had meant to say please, but he didn't get it out before the demon had impaled himself. The act of which choked Aziraphale out of both words and breath with the cold fire he plunged the angel into.

Oh, sure, it hurt, but what didn't for a demon? There was so much more to care about than being prepared, like the way Aziraphale filled him, the way his warmth suffused Crowley from within, the way Crowley finally, finally, after six thousand fucking years, had gotten what he wanted…!

Crowley threw his head back with a liberated moan and rocked his hips down on the angel hard.

Aziraphale stayed still as Crowley worked out his frustrations for himself, but he was unsure how. The wriggling, slinking, tingling sensation that seemed to come from touching Crowley was intense where their thighs met and his arm slung around his neck... he could hardly focus at all on the way it felt to have his cock enveloped by it. As Crowley hissed and pressed a desperate kiss to Aziraphale's increasingly slack mouth, briefly giving into the urge to bite, nipping and bruising at a warm lower lip (so warm; so much warmer than his own), the angel gave a helpless moan.

The first desperate frenzy became a rolling sort of grind, barely pulling off the angel, simply riding him, reveling in the way Crowley could feel himself stretch and give around the shaft. 

"Yes, yes, yesss," Crowley hissed, low and sharp, and bit again. He was nowhere near close, but he already felt ascendant. He needed angel dick more often.

And Aziraphale thanked heaven for small miracles that Crowley remained unharmed enough to continue his stubborn ride. The selfish streak in him hadn't the heart to stop him, the way Crowley made him feel like his body covered him like purest alcohol and ran him cold, until that kiss set it aflame. He drew back from it to gasp for air he didn't technically need and then dive right back in. 

_ Only Aziraphale would breathe purely so he could gasp for air, _ thought Crowley, as he breathed solely to pant and moan. He muffled himself against Aziraphale's lips, fingers twining into the angel's bright hair to keep him in place, keep his lips there and kissing.

Too much, it was too much. Crowley pulled free of the kiss with a broken whimper, and half sat, at the perfect angle to rock his hips back, riding Aziraphale, guiding Aziraphale's cock to the right spot--Crowley's eyes fell shut behind his glasses, and he trembled.

"Yes, there!"

Aziraphale smiled in a way that might have frightened Crowley had his eyes been open. He teased the kiss deeper, sucking that too-slick-by-half tongue into his mouth and feeling it twist around his with a mind of its own while his hands traced down Crowley's barebones body and landed on his hips. He gripped and pulled down tight with the demon's next downstroke. Crowley had expected a lot; gasps and blushes and lots of endearingly irritating  _ oh my!' _ s and  _ my dear! _ 's, because Crowley knew his angel and he knew how Aziraphale handled most everything in existence.

He had not, however, expected firm hands on his hips guiding him, quite confidently, in a way that made him choke on nothing and dig his fingers into Aziraphale's shoulders.

"Gnngah," he hiccupped against the angel's cheek.

"You feel like nothing else on Earth," Aziraphale said against Crowley's ear as he slumped and clutched; his plummy Southern accent no less plummy, and no less Southern, but a great deal more husky. His fingers crawled up the demon's body, like pools of sunlight shifting warm and bright across the floor, and hooked over his lean shoulders from behind, guiding him now, pulling him down with a force born of distance. The white-blue heat it sent through Aziraphale seared some part of his self-control away and he set a ruthless pace of rocking hard and shallow into Crowley.

"A-Aziraphale," Crowley gasped.

"Yes, darling...?" Aziraphale asked, voice barely punctuated by each shockwave Crowley's hips sent through him.

The demon wasn't sure of when he lost control of the situation, or if he'd ever had any control at all, and not caring as long as the angel sent sun-warm sparks up through his body with each thrust. He buried his face against Aziraphale's throat and whined against it, lips drawing back to let his teeth graze the skin. His own hastily cobbled-together, and until now quite satisfied, sex was starting to stir again. Not that Aziraphale was unaffected entirely, his hands trembled and there was an insatiable urge to unfurl his wings and open all of his eyes--every single one of them--but he managed to hide it enough with a little upward thrust of his hips. Not too easy, mind you, with the fact that he was practically on his tiptoes still at the edge of the desk.

Leaving a shaky bite mark at the corner of Aziraphale's jaw, Crowley whined--actually whined--"S'good. Nnn, so good." 

His hands, trembling and claw-tipped, dug into the fabric of the angel's ridiculously fussy clothing, through to the skin, to the warmth. Prob'ly wasn't very demonic, ceding control to Aziraphale, but he clearly knew what he was doing (Crowley would be jealous about that later), and it was hard to think up sexual power plays with an angelic cock rammed up his ass exuding pure, hot good. With a yelp, the angel jumped to removing Crowley's talons from his favorite vest and gripped his wrists--it was older than his damned Bentley, even!

Aziraphale spun in a small whirlwind, slammed his lover's back against the desktop and pinned his arms on either side of his boulder of a Macintosh. Crowley squirmed beneath the angel, trying to free his arms, because it was the proper thing to do, but he couldn't be bothered to try very hard. 

The angel was sure they made a picture; Crowley's legs in a 'v' around his waist and him fully dressed but for his trousers and pants, the both of them jolting the desk against the wall when their hips met. 

"Then, tell me how good, love," Aziraphale purred, giving another grind of his hips. The motion rocked him and Crowley's sunglasses hit the table and clattered off onto the floor somewhere, but who cared; Aziraphale knew what his eyes looked like, and well, Crowley didn't really need to be able to see clearly, did he?

He wrapped gangly legs around Aziraphale's waist and arched, moaning wordlessly for a moment before gasping, and, oh, yes, that was lovely enough to distract indeed, their lips meeting like connecting the circuit and lighting them both up in an arch from lips to sex.

"Good. So good, fuck, where did you learn this? Keep going, keep going, mm, God."

"Thinking about you," Aziraphale answered.

He leaned his weight into Crowley and leveraged that against the fact that he wasn't entirely telling the truth there--sounded more flowery that way, and that seemed to charm him. (He tried not to giggle at the idea of being a snakecharmer and instead plunged into another kiss.) Crowley sobbed and he tried to pretend it was the kiss, or the angel putting his full weight behind each thrust, and not the words themselves that made him feel light and fluttery in all the wrong places.

He strained and bit at Aziraphale's tongue, in between gasps of, "Yes, please, yes, right there, fuck, right there--!"

Braving the lion's den of too-sharp teeth, Aziraphale ravished Crowley's mouth in return and left Crowley's hands to their own devilish devices, so that he could wrap his fingers again around that violently-bright cock of his and work him over in time to each deep, hard thrust. Both of them completely unaware of the flares of holy fire that shot out from between the demon's legs. Whimpering around Aziraphale's tongue, Crowley slid his hands up under tweeds and tartans and other ridiculousness to dig his fingers needily into the angel's back.

There he could feel a jittery energy, as if Aziraphale was barely holding back his wings which, somehow, was the hottest thing Crowley could think of right at that moment.

He arched up, hips jerking hard both onto Aziraphale and into his hands. "God, yes, please, oh God, Aziraphale, please, harder, please," he moaned raggedly against the angel's lips.

It took surprisingly little to encourage him--he was in the privacy of his own home, after all! and Crowley sounded so needing--and with a burst of light, the demon was clawing at where flesh turned to feathers. Aziraphale took advantage of the extra power his wings provided him on the physical realm and timed the beating of them to the pulse of his hips and drive down into him as hard as Crowley had asked. The desk groaned beneath them in warning, but he couldn't hear a thing over Crowley's growing incoherency.

Crowley ran out of words entirely, digging his fingers into a mass of soft feathers, crinkling at least some, but he could make amends for that later.

Even without his sunglasses, even in the blurred focus of his eyesight, Aziraphale was an ethereal mass of white; Aziraphale as he truly was. Not some fussy, tartan-clad bookshop keeper, but a true Principality: all wings and eyes and holy light.

Enveloping Crowley, covering him, fucking him--

Crowley came harder than he had in his entire existence up until that point.

And, like being roped and pulled over the edge of the precipice, Aziraphale followed Crowley into a shattering orgasm. One that rang through him was like spider-lightning crawling over heavy cloud cover at three AM, like an avalanche cascading down a mountain in a kilometer long stripe, twisted and shook the center of his being like an earthquake--there was no example on a smaller scale. The kind he never could experience with a mortal lover, for fear of obliterating them, or driving them mad.

No such fears here. 

Aizraphale folded over Crowley like six pairs of wings, whispered an  _ I love you _ that stole all the oxygen out of the room and bent inward the glass of the bookshop windows, before he spilled white-hot and bright inside him. For a moment, just a sliver of moment, Crowley let himself be lost in it; the light and the wings and the lightning that crackled across the surface of his being, the sound of a language he had not heard spoken since before his own wings were charred black.

There was temptation there (for himself, for once) to open up more than his physical body, to intertwine with Aziraphale completely--

Thankfully the sting between his legs brought him back to his senses before he did something that stupid. He winced and shifted and tried to say something, but all that came out was a stunned hiss, his fingers still kneading at the angel's wings (one set of them, anyway).

The helplessness of that hiss was so sweet that Aziraphale couldn't help but kiss him. In one moment Aziraphale was in his full glory and in the next, like a change of perspective or shifting of a peripheral, he was braced with his palms flat on either side of Crowley, smiling brilliantly and dripping sweat as he planted a kiss onto the demon's grin. Crowley returned the kiss because it seemed like the thing to do, and it allowed him to get a nice, little bite in as well. And he wouldn't have to try and form words, either, with a mouth that seemed to have forgotten basic sound.

He shifted again, hissed; it really was a touch more sore where Aziraphale was still in him than usual.

"Nn-- _ angel _ ," he finally managed, words slurred and unsure.  Sounded much more like a sweet nothing to Aziraphale now, rather than a term used in annoyance or a label separating the two of them distinctly on battle lines. It also occurred to the angel in question that it had been a very, very long time since Crowley had used it with any sort of enmity at all...

"Yes, love?" he ask-cooed.

Not that Aziraphale being adoring and post-coital wasn't a joy all of its own, not that Crowley would ever admit that out loud, but the sting was making itself more known by the moment, and it was very clearly not the stretch around the angel's shaft that was causing it. (Crowley was not quite as experienced as he liked to claim, but enough to take note of that much.)

Then he realised the problem, and he would have laughed if it was happening to anyone but himself. "Your spunk is fucking burning me," he sputtered, half in disbelief.

The blissful smile melted off the angel's face, replaced by a moue of confusion. 

"... what?! I couldn't! I meant, surely it couldn't!" he sputtered.

Not that he'd ever slept with a demon before, and so he wouldn't have known any better. He scrambled to get off of Crowley, his confusion melting into worry and before he knew what he was doing he was inspecting between the demon's thighs for damage.

"Did you consecrate your dick or something?!" Crowley shot back, and then Aziraphale was staring at his arse like it was a particularly interesting book--Crowley assumed. He couldn't see clearly enough to tell--and he didn't know whether to start laughing or swearing. He struggled to sit up, but his limbs weren't quite working yet, so he settled for, "Is it on fire down there?"

"No," Aziraphale responded, distracted before standing up straight and handing Crowley his sunglasses and wringing now-empty hands. "Maybe a bit scorched? Goodness, I'm very sorry, I had ... no idea, Crowley, honestly."

"S'fine," he said. "Not like I've fucked an angel before; I didn't know either." Crowley put them on quickly, quite grateful to be able to see clearly again, especially if it nettet him flushed and embarrassed Aziraphale. 

He finally managed to push himself up, keeping to only a minor wince. The pain was getting easier to handle, if nothing else. The demon managed a trembling shadow of his usual smirk and added, "Nice wings, by the way. Would like to get my hands on those sometime."

\--

Several hours after the resolution of the non-apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale had located the angel's bed, cleared it of its burden, and taken to it. Dozing in each other's arms was yet another new indulgence for the angel and as he made a decision to keep it cleared for occasions just like this, he felt a sudden flare of hateful fire shoot up through his chest.

Bright eyes springing open, Aziraphale sat straight up in bed, hand on his heart, and swore to God almighty herself.

"What's wrong, angel?" he asked, his tone completely unworried by Aziraphale's reaction, even a bit amused. (Never a good thing for a demon to be.) "Heartburn?"

"The meal was too rich," Aziraphale agreed, starting to get out of the bed to look for a peppermint tablet to chew.

"Won't help, because  _ that's not it! _ " Crowley said, sing-song.

"Then what is it?"

"Shouldn't have swallowed." The demon cackled as Aziraphale looked at him in horrified realization. "Nobody in Hell ever swallows, angel!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third chapter? It might be in the works. You want it, you tell us.  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183218036@N07/48479277026/in/dateposted-public/)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to NothingEnough and BlitheFool for betaing. 
> 
> Want more? Give us a comment. ;)


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